A Tenuous Step Towards Sanity
by Dragon'sRubyEyes
Summary: Chapter 2 up!Dean's take on Sam's freaky mind powers. R n'R. THE END!
1. Practice

**A.N: This is my first Supernatural Fic, so it is, of course, accompanied by all sorts of fun variations of nervousness. Do me a favor and tell me what you think so I can stop obsessing about it?**

**Summery: Tag on for_ Nightmare_; Sam thinks about that moment when the cabinet moved, and everything before and after it. **

**Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural there would be nude scenes, _lots_ of nude scenes. I'm talkn' fucking _porno_ here, cuz' really, who can blame me? **

**

* * *

**

**A tenuous step towards sanity. **

* * *

Dean can swear until he's blue in the face that I'm not like Matt; that I'll never be like him so long as he, Dean, is watching out for me. What was it he said? 

"_As long as I'm around nothing bad's gonna happen to you."_

But I know he's afraid, and hell if I don't even blame him for it, I can tell by the way he moves, and the way he's just a little tenser than is strictly normal for Dean. Even now, as we drive away from that hokey-ass hunting lodge I feel him glancing at me, real quickly, out of the corner of his eye. I can't help but wonder if he's making sure that I'm okay or if he's reassuring himself that I haven't mutated into one of the monsters we hunt.

The car is dead silent as we go, not even the mindless noise of Metalica to break the strained quiet. I want to say something, anything, to get him talking because the silence only makes it harder to ignore the thoughts running through my head, and the last thing I want to do is drag all these bran-spanking-new issues into the light to examine; thinking about things has never ended well for me. And the silence makes it even clearer that everything is _not_ okay.

There's nothing I can say, short of asking him flat-out if he thinks I'm a monster now, and I know what his answer to that would be.

"_Don't be stupid, Sam, you're not a monster." _Or some variation of that, probably one with lots of cuss words and a 'Sammy' or two.

So instead I'm forced to stew in my thoughts, my mind going over the events of the past few days over and over like a broken record; if records had pictures as well as sound. I can see and hear it all so perfectly, like I'm still there in that house and not on the road to god-doesn't-even-know-where. This whole case has just been too fucked up for words.

The thing that gets me most, though? The knowledge that I'm not as disturbed by those deaths as I should be, yeah, that freaks the fucking hell out of me. Jim, Roger, and Max all died needlessly, and I'm more worried about the knowledge that I pulled a fucking Jean Grey? What kind of horrible person does that make me?

Don't get me wrong, I'm sad for Alice, and I'm guilty over not being able to really help, but those emotions take a back seat to my fear; and _that_ pleasant bit of information brings up a whole new set of problems that I just can't deal with right now, so I force myself to think about the only other thing I'm capable of thinking about right now, my new power. Round and round my thoughts go, over and over; there's that fucking record again.

I do this the whole time we drive, for hours until I fall asleep, and then for several more hours after I wake up from my usual nightmare about Jess, until I can barely remember what its like to think about anything else. This must be what addictions like; I abruptly decide to never do drugs, being addicted sucks.

I don't actually decide to _do_ something until we pull into the parking lot of a motel that's only about half a shade less corny than the last one; and even then it's only a vague idea. But part of me, in the back of my mind, remembers my philosophy teacher at Stanford, Dr. McKenneth, saying that people fear what they cannot control. So, if I can control my power, I won't be afraid anymore right? Right. I hope.

We go through the routine of getting ready for bed: food, showers, change, playful and semi-witty banter, and then lights out. I wait until I'm damn sure that Dean is out, because how much would it suck if he caught me at this?

I get up and walk to Dean's duffle and dig through it until I find the spoon he held up earlier. Why the fuck my big brother is carrying a spoon around with him I have no idea, one of his many isocracies I guess.

I sit on the bed and for a moment I just stare at the utensil in my hand, I can't believe in doing this, how stupid can I get? But the fear is still there, nagging me, and I want to feel unafraid, more than anything else, even more than wanting to be normal.

I'm so fucking sick of being scared; it blows harder than being obsessed does. I concentrate hard on the spoon, focus everything I have on it; willing it to buckle beneath the pressure I'm putting on it. Nothing happens, except that my head starts to ache.

'_What the hell? I did it easily enough at Max's!'_

My mind drifts back to my time in that closet, to the desperate, agonizing fear I felt at the thought of losing Dean. The burning, all-consuming, self hatred that filled me at knowing that I was helpless to save him, just as I was with Mom and Jess. The grief, the guilt; old familiar friends now a thousand times stronger than they'd ever been before. In that moment I had reconfirmed what I already knew; I could survive without Jess, I could not survive without Dean.

The power of those emotions was still to overwhelming, I could feel them taking me over as my eyes returned to the spoon from witch they had strayed, and my subconscious did the rest. It was like a string within me had snapped; all those emotions seemed to surge forward out of my body to hit the spoon. In a second it was twisted beyond recognition, the only part of it that was untouched rested between my thumb and forefinger.

My heart soared and my smile was genuine, hope bloomed within me; it felt in that moment as if that bit of shrapnel was the first step back to sanity, or as close to it as we ever got. It was a desperate and tenuous step, but a step none the less, and a single step was better than standing still.

I almost cried from the relief of knowing that there was some control still left to me.

I had no time to think more, as the events of the past few days hit me with a vengeance, a sucker punch to my stomach. The now mutilated spoon fell between the nightstand and the bed as I crashed into oblivion. Not even hope and joy can defeat exhaustion. And a tenuous step back toward what my life had been before didn't seem able to ether.

No matter, I'd keep practicing in the morning, maybe get a few steps closer to the ultimate goal, even if they're small steps.

**

* * *

A.N: Sorry, I didn't know how to end it, so just…did, ya know? Tell what you think, yes? Yes. ****Goodbye until another day. **


	2. Help

**A.N: Hello again. First off, to all those who reviewed: thank you, it means so much to me that my work is enjoyed. Your feed back is much appreciated. **

**Summery: Dean finds something kind of disturbing, and realizes that he must make an effort to help Sam with his issues. **

**Disclaimer: We already went over this, _porno_ remember? **

**

* * *

**

A tenuous step towards sanity.

**Chapter 2.**

* * *

Sam is in the shower when I wake up, and I can't help but on some level be grateful for that because I'm not sure what I can do to remove the guilt and fear from my brother's shoulders, and if there's one thing I _really_ hate its being helpless.

I know he's afraid, and that knowledge hurts, like a knife in the heart, but I'm afraid too. Not of him or his abilities, I could never be afraid of Sam, no matter how many mutant powers he gets, I'm scared of what he'll do to himself.

_I_ know that Sam will never be like Max, but Sam doesn't trust himself not to lose control, and I also know that Sammy would do anything, _anything_, to keep from hurting someone, and that scares me. What if one day he decides the world is better off without him? Sam's the kind of guy who does what he thinks is best for everyone else; he's just to fucking _selfless_.

I sigh, running my hand through my hair, I have to find a way to help him, and as much as I know he'd like it, I don't think singing his praises is really going to make a difference.

I'm staring at the floor like I've never seen one before, and it takes me couple of minutes to realize that there's something metal shining in the early morning sunlight, cuz' I wasn't actually seeing the ground in front of me, to lost in my thoughts. The thing is almost completely hidden by the nightstand, its laying in the small space between the stand and Sammy's bed so I can't get a good look at it. I stretch out my leg and snag it with my toes, dragging it towards me, to lazy to get up off the edge of the bed where I'm sitting. When it's close enough I bend over and pick it up, but even though I can see it clearly now I still have no idea what the hell it is.

It takes me a long moment to realize that it's a spoon, twisted and bent in impossible ways. And not just any spoon, it's _my_ spoon, the one I stole from a diner a couple months ago in a sudden bout of kleptomania. It happens. The one I held up to Sam after he told me about the cabinet moving. Why I kept it all of these months I have no idea, maybe I'm crazy.

I told him to bend it, guess he listened to me. My head feels like it's full of bees, buzzing around and creating all sorts of fucking ungodly noise and making it hard to think. I don't know if I can handle this, and I can handle a whole hell of a lot.

Demons? No sweat. Boggarts? Barely worth my time. Wendigos? Piece of cake. Ghosts? I can deal with them in my sleep, and have, on occasion. My little brother's freaky-ass powers and a mutilated kitchen utensil? _No fucking clue._

And if I can't deal, how hard must this be for Sam? The idea of Sammy having to go through this on his own is unbearable to me, there has to be some way for me to help.

My eyes fall on the spoon again, and suddenly an idea comes to me, making me grin. Obviously Sam deliberately practiced his telekinesis last night after I went to bed, so maybe I could help him gain control of his powers? It's glaringly apparent that he wants to, and I want to help him, even if it means going deep into uncharted territory and living with Mr. Cleo.

Now that I have a plan, even if it is a rather vague one, I can concentrate on other important things; like coffee. I dress quickly, and then knock on the door just as the shower shuts off.

"Yeah?" Sam asks through the door.

"Hurry up, I want coffee."

"You _always _want coffee." That makes me grin, my little brother knows me to well.

About half an hour later we're back in the hotel room, sitting next to each other at the crappy hotel table looking for our next job, and I figure it's as good a time as any to confront Sam on his Neo impression. I pull the disfigured spoon from my pocket and put on the keyboard of his laptop, where he can't possibly ignore it. He gets really still, and I can see the wheels in his head turning, trying to produce a plausible lie.

'_Don't bother Sammy.'_ I want to tell him, but I'm actually kind of curious about what his excuse is going to be, so I don't.

"What's that?" Ah, when in doubt, play at ignorance. I'm disappointed at his lack of creativity, but not surprised, Sammy has always sucked at lying.

"I was kind of hoping you could tell me, after all, it was on the floor next to your bed." It's not as direct as I would have liked, but its hard for me come out and say things that could lead to an emotional moment, always has been, and really, what the hell am I supposed to say?

'_Hey Sam, this wouldn't happen to be a spoon you bent with your freaky mind powers, would it? Oh it is? That's what I thought, so here's what we're gonna do, you and I are gonna work together to get this under control so you can go back to being your normal boring, broody self, okay? Okay.'_

Yeah, riiiiight, that would go over _so_ well. Sam is shaking his head, still determined to pretend he doesn't know shit. I'm getting annoyed, I've never been a very patient person, and Sam has the special talent of blowing through what little of it I do have.

"Maybe it was left here by a former guest." He's still trying to pull the wool over my eyes.

"Damn it Sam, I know you pulled a fucking Matrix on that spoon, so cut the crap." Huh, I can be direct, who knew?

"If I'm Neo who does that make you?" He asks, smirking like this is so fucking hilarious. Diversionary tactic, the part of my brain that sounds like my Dad whispers. Sorry little bro, you won't get out of this that easily.

"Morpheus, and don't change the fucking subject." Have I mentioned that I have no patience? I have? Oh so an _understatement._

He laughs a little, but then looks at my face, and it must have been hella scary because suddenly he isn't laughing and he seems damn serious, and its 'bout fucking time. Then he swallows and looks away, a combination that is always guaranteed to make me feel guilty, even if I haven't done anything wrong. But dammed if I'm going to let that stop me from helping him, this is important, and way to big for my little Sammy to handle on his own, even if he is twenty two and at least four inches taller than me, he's still my little Sammy, and I'm still his big brother, charged with his care and destined to protect him.

"So what if I did?" His voice is quiet, and there's something there, a tone, accusatory and defensive and sad and…fearful? Shit, why the hell is _that_ there? Any type of apprehension or worry sounds so wrong in Sam's voice, and I promised myself a long time ago that I'd kick the ass of anyone or _anything_ that put that sound in his voice, but how the hell do I kick my own ass?

"Sam, why didn't you just tell me?" Not what I want so say, but _I'm sorry_ has always been too hard for me to articulate and that's not ever gonna change.

He looks up and smiles and I must have imagined the anxiety in his voice because there's no trace of it on his face now, just mirth and embarrassment.

"I was kind of worried…that you'd make fun of me." He looks away again and a blush mantles his cheeks, and he's ten again, telling me he had a nightmare and embarrassed because he's a big boy and big boys aren't supposed to be afraid. But I shake the image away, now isn't the time to take a little jaunt down memory lane. Looking at my little brother now makes me grin anyway, so why bother with the past?

"Of course I'm gonna make fun of you Sammy, the day I don't make fun of you is the day they put me in the ground, dork." Sam glares at me but it's drastically dulled by his grin.

"Jerk."

"Bitch." Automatic words, automatic responses, comfortable and familiar, how the hell did I manage without this the four years he was off living normal at collage?

Back to business, The One must be trained so he can save the world. Concentrate Morpheus, time to convince him to take the red pill. Or was it the blue one?

"Just because I tease you doesn't mean I won't help you Sammy." That hurt to say, not because it's not true, but because it was just a little bit to close to being chick-flick for my tastes. From the look on his face he knows it to, but he doesn't call me on it.

"It's Sam." That makes me laugh and my laugh makes him scowl, chick flick moment safely avoided. I gently push his precious laptop out of the way, and place a pencil I've pulled from my pocket in the space it used to occupy. He looks at me quizzically, and I nod towards the pencil.

"I figure it's like any other muscle in the body, so I'm gonna help up work it out. Move that." He just stares at me, obviously surprised and I raise my eyebrows, _what the hell are whiting for?_

He turns his gaze to the pencil, and a look of deep concentration settles on his face, strange emotions swim through his eyes and the pencil does a complete three sixty turn on the table top. I'm impressed, and a little bit awed, though I'll never let _him_ know that. I steady the pencil on the table and nod.

"Good, again." We repeated the excessive until Sam was sweating. I clapped him on the shoulder, a smile tugging my lips.

"That all for tonight Sam go get cleaned up, we'll work on it again tomorrow." He gave me a weak glare and lurched to his feet. As he stumbled towards the bathroom I heard him mutter.

"Oh Joy." Chuckling at my brother I cleaned up the stuff that was spread across the table and tossed the spoon that had stared it all into the trash.

It felt good to help Sam, even if I did have to sacrifice my spoon.

**

* * *

A.N: There's the second chapter, I hope you enjoyed it. I might continue, but I'm not really sure what else to do with this story, suggestions are much appreciated.**

**Sincerely- **

**Eyes**


End file.
